


Meditations on Virginity

by Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (by characters and author), 420Fest, Abuse of the English Language, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton’s Abusive Childhood, Clint Barton’s stellar self esteem, Clint POV, Clint is uncomfortably sexually experienced for a teenager, Deaf Clint Barton, Drug Use, First Kiss, Human Disaster Clint Barton, M/M, Oh no Clint baby what is you doing?, Past consent issues referenced, Schmoop, So many capital letters, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Stoic Bucky, Stoner Clint Barton, Virgin bucky barnes, seriously, unsafe use of a motor vehicle, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia
Summary: They’re taking a break when Rogers seems to get a little nervous and asks, “Um, so… Natasha says you’ve got a hook up?”“A hook up?”“Yeah, for um,” Steve looks around the room and, God, could he look anymore suspicious as he whispers, “Weed?”Or:Virginity is just an artificial construct of the patriarchy.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 22
Kudos: 144
Collections: 420 Fanworks Fest





	Meditations on Virginity

**Author's Note:**

> That I should love a bright particular star  
> And think to wed it, he is so above me:  
> In his bright radiance and collateral light  
> Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
> 
> —Shakespeare, Helena, All’s Well That Ends Well Ii
> 
> Mature Rating is for drug use and Clint’s sexual past and current abusive family life.
> 
> I’m technically still waiting to hear back from my beta on this one, but I couldn’t _not_ post it today.

Clint’s shocked during the first week of drama when Steve comes over and asks Clint to run lines with him; he hadn’t thought Mr. President/Prom King/Three Year Nationals Champion Quarterback Steve, Look How I Grew, Futzing Rogers knew his name.

Rogers had been running lines with Tasha but she left early today for a ballet recital leaving Rogers on his own. Clint’s surprised he didn’t go with his Why Won’t They Admit They’re in Love with Each Other bestie Bucky Barnes. 

Barnes is tech only, hates being on stage almost as much as he hates anyone or anything that isn’t Rogers or breakin’ stuff, and the only one more antisocial than Clint, but he’s been Rogers’ best friend since middle school, the time before Rogers grew into the Teen Idol/Captain America and Apple Pie Flag Waver he is today. 

It hadn’t always been this way; Barnes had been ROTC, too, and had shared the stage often as not with Rogers until summer before last when something Bad happened and turned Bucky Barnes All Star Lefty Pitcher into Emo McGrungelord. 

He glances over at Barnes and the other boy gives Clint a glare that actually makes him nervous. And _nothing_ makes Clint nervous. He doesn’t _get_ nervous, he had any sense of fear or self preservation beaten out of him practically before he learned to walk. 

Maybe it’s just lust?

Lust he can get out of his system; they can bang or whatever and then go back to ignoring each other in detention or, hell, maybe Barnes might even be open to a fuck buddies arrangement.

Clint licks his lower lip deliberately and when Barnes' look turns even darker Clint smirks, taunting him before turning back to Rogers. 

God, the hate sex is going to be Epic. 

“Why not your boyfriend?” Clint asks, nodding towards Barnes.

“He’s not my— we aren’t like that. Bucky’s like a brother to me. And don’t I care that Bucky’s gay if that’s what you’re driving at.”

Clint scoffs; no one on campus would believe Rogers as a homophobe, he’d been the one to help Barnes come out back in 10th grade, literally throwing him a party. Not that Clint had been invited but he had heard it was a great party.

“Of course not, I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks I am.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Clint.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do; you’re in Archery Club with Kate Bishop, right?” Katie’s a good kid, but a frosh and somehow already one of the most popular kids in school; it makes sense that Rogers knows who _she_ is, “You’re already failing Hand’s English class but you’re the only one Dr. Pym doesn’t hate and you volunteer at the animal shelter even though your dad makes you close up his shop every day.”

Less Makes and more Somebody’s Gotta, but yeah, Rogers has him pegged, “What? How do you know all that?”

“Bucky and Nat talk about you a lot.”

So much for Detention Bros and Ms. Thicker Than Blood; thanks guys.

“So you wanna do this scene?” Clint asks after an awkward silence where Clint fiddles with his BTE and Rogers just looks at him expectantly. He takes the copy from Rogers and glances over it, “The All’s Well Virginity scene. Nice.”

Rogers blushes and looks away, crossing his arms and saying defensively, “It’s a good scene.”

Clint scrubs his hand through his hair careless of the way it makes it stand up all over the place; his hair is a disaster on a good day so it’s not like he can make it any worse.

“Yeah, no, I know, I didn’t mean the virginity thing, I just meant that, yeah, that’s a good one; cuz, like, everyone goes Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet, and, like, ‘ _Hello, he wrote other plays, pick up a comedy once in a while, my dude_ ’ but everyone wants to be Hamlet or Romeo and it’s, like, at least go with Hortatio or Mercutio, but everyone feels like they gotta be the star— and don’t get me wrong, I like the spotlight as much as anyone else, but _come on_ ,” Roger’s blush recedes and his eyes get wider and wider as Clint Barton, Dummy of the Year lets his mouth run on. He takes a breath; that may be more than he’s said to Rogers in the last three years combined, “So anyway, I’m Hellena?”

“No, uh, Parolles? I’m doing Hellena.”

“You’re what?” He can see Nat being drawn to Parolles but is surprised that Rogers would take Hellena, “I mean, at least she gets her guy in the end?”

“Yeah, I always thought she and Parolles would be a better couple.”

Woah, is he, like, into Tasha?

They read lines for the rest of class and Clint’s actually able to get out of his head for a bit and it’s good; Rogers doesn’t get the lead in every play just because he has a pretty face. 

Though it is pretty. 

Not as pretty as Barnes’ murderface, but then everyone knows Clint has a death wish.

They’re taking a break when Rogers seems to get a little nervous and asks, “Um, so… Natasha says you’ve got a hook up?”

“A hook up?”

“Yeah, for um,” Steve looks around the room and, God, could he look anymore suspicious as he whispers, “ _Weed_?”

“Holy shit are you asking me to get you high?”

“No!” Steve yelps and everyone’s staring now; Barnes starts to make his way over but Steve shakes him off and everyone goes back to what they were doing; the actors going over lines and the techies cleaning up and repairing the equipment that’s been sitting around since June. Bucky’s elbow deep into a soundboard, but he only had eyes for Rogers, Bucky’s face almost soft as he looks at him before turning his glare on Clint.

Not boyfriends Clint’s pert ass; Rogers needs to get his head out of his and he’d see Barnes is his for the taking. Though why should Barnes be any different from the rest of the school?

Because he is, that’s why.

Clint pulls his eyes away from Bucky and looks at Steve; the tips of his ears are pink but his gaze is direct.

“No. It’s um; I’ve been reading up on it and I think it might help him?”

Clint goes back to looking at Bucky, who’s still glaring at Clint like he wants to set him on fire with his mind.

He’s so hot.

“Yeah, sure,” Clint says like there was ever any doubt, “We can go smoke at lunch.”

It will mean Clint won’t have enough to last him through the weekend, but if he skips his Friday Night Fun Bowl he’ll still have enough to sleep at night and for his Monday Morning Spliff. 

Or maybe he can avoid Dad’s fists and he just won’t be in too much pain to sleep on his own. 

Yeah, right. 

And maybe Bucky will ask him to Prom.

“Oh! I was, that is, I was thinking we could just… buy some?”

Of course neither one of them would want to risk getting caught smoking with Clint; he’s an idiot for ever thinking otherwise.

“Yeah, okay, sure. I don’t have much on me but I could sell you a jay for $5 bucks now or I can bring you a baggy on Monday after lunch?”

He can’t go to Carson’s Arcade before then; or he could but it wouldn’t do him any good. Trick would only think he’d want it for personal use and would refuse just to be a dick. 

“Could— maybe both? The joint now and if it helps, more on Monday?”

Clint shrugs, “Cool by me; I’m gonna hit the john. Wait a couple minutes then follow me.”

~~~

“Hey,” Bucky says as Clint hands him a baggie of Carousel Kush in exchange for a fold of bills which disappears quickly, “You maybe want to light one up with me?”

In the two months Clint’s been supplying Barnes they’ve gone from maybe enemies to maybe friends, but this is the first time Barnes has offered to light up with him; and with it not coming out of Clint’s personal stash he’d be a fool to pass it up. 

Plus, he really kind of wants to see what Barnes is like high. 

Clint looks around and says, “Yeah, sure. Come on, we can go to the stoner wall; it’ll be empty this time of day.” 

Clint sits on the ground with his back against the wall; the shadows are long leaving the area chilly in the late autumn afternoon and he pulls his knees up into his hoodie. It also gives him a steady surface to fold his crutch and rest his roller. 

He actually prefers stealing filters from Dad, but the man’s been strangely sober the last week.

Not that it’s made him any less mean. 

Clint shifts so he isn’t putting as much pressure on his bruised ribs. 

He’s not willing to risk Dad actually being able to count and so he makes do, pulling out one of Detective Hill’s business cards. He rips off a strip and folds a third of it into an accordion before rolling the rest and adding it to the old cigarette roller Dad had thrown out but had just taken a little elbow grease to get working again.

“I’ve never seen somebody roll a joint like this,” Bucky says as he hands Clint his baggy.

“Yeah, well, at 5 bucks a pop I like to make every puff count,” Clint says. He pulls out his grinder and when it’s fine enough makes sure the roller is packed just right before adding the paper and then licking it closed, watching Barnes watch him with bright eyes. 

Barney calls him a tool and says hand rolled is better but Clint thinks he’s just a snob, and the appreciative way Barnes watches him makes him feel good. 

Not that he’d change even if Barnes was judging him.

“Don’t you get, like, an employee discount or something?”

“I wish; I don’t even get commission,” he says, lighting up. 

He’s lucky he gets an allowance from Jacques, and that’s because Barney had talked him into it; ever since then he gets a flat weekly rate, though God help him if he doesn’t make his quota. He finds it’s safer to pay out of pocket for any product that doesn't move.

He takes another toke and passes to Barnes, “So I think we should fuck sometime.”

Bucky chokes and wheezes a bit, “You what?”

“Yeah, pretty sure we’ll be good together and I gotta place; I’m clean, I’m sure you’re clean— you are clean aren’t you?”

He nods slowly, mouth agape, joint forgotten in his right hand.

“You should know, I like kissing and touching and giving head but not getting it, I like getting my ass eaten out but won’t do it myself and won’t kiss you after if that’s your thing— I know, it’s selfish, but I don’t need it to live so if you're into it you know the deal. If all the leather you wear can be believed I’m a switch, I lean sub unless I’m with someone more submissive than I am, that brings out my dom, if that’s something you’re okay with we can talk safewords, but again, I don’t need it; you can fuck me, but only if you wear a rubber and you can’t come in my ass, but my back or face or whatever is fine. Oh and if I even get a hint that you’re about to argue against the condom we’re done. Take it or leave it.”

Barnes looks gobsmacked and like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He takes another long puff and gives Clint the joint, tucking his hands into his leather jacket; it’s the one with all the buckles and he’s so fucking hot Clint wants to lick him.

Clint shrugs, “Or not. No pressure.” 

Clint sighs as the ringing in his ears fade; God he loves weed. 

“Relax, Barnes,” he says, patting the concrete next to him, “I’m not gonna jump your bones or anything. I’m big on consent.”

Well, getting at least. He hasn’t always been so lucky on the other end. 

Barnes sits next to him, closer than he expected, his right shoulder against Clint’s left. He holds out his hand and takes the joint back.

They smoke companionably for a bit, Barnes silent and Clint giving a running commentary of everything that’s going through his head: the new puppies at the shelter, sure to be gone by the end of the week but so fun while they’re here; the physics project Pym has them working on that Clint knows he’s gonna ace; the weird way that some of Principal Coulson’s suits look like Hand Me Downs while others Clint swears are tailored and how nice his ass looks in both— what, the guy’s hot for an old dude.

He’s in the middle of a monologue about the relative merits of feather fletching to vanes when he pauses to take a breath and Barnes blurts out, “I’m a virgin.”

“That’s cool man,” Clint says, bumping his shoulder against Bucky’s. 

“Cool?”

He shrugs and paraphrases Tasha, “Virginity’s just an artificial construct of the patriarchy anyway.”

“I’d like to try kissing sometime. It seems like it’d be nice.”

“Kissing is the best— probably my favorite part. It’s like everything else falls away and there’s just this connection, you know? Honestly? I think they’re like pizza and coffee, even when they’re bad they’re good and— wait, you’ve never been kissed? How is that possible?”

“Fuck off, Barton,” Barnes rumbles and goes to stand but Clint catches his sleeve.

“Wait, don’t go, Bucky, I didn’t mean it like anything, I mean, you’re just… you know… all you. Who wouldn’t wanna kiss you? I mean, I do, like, _all_ the time.”

Barnes gives him the MurderStare(™) but sits back down and it’s a good thing he does or Clint might be running at what he’s just confessed.

They finished the joint a while ago and Clint’s in that happy floaty place where his high is just starting to taper off, his spike of fear that Barnes was gonna walk disappearing in the face of the reality that he’s sticking around.

No one’s ever stuck around for Clint before.

“All the time?”

“Hell, yeah, Barnes; you’re like crazy hot and you try to hide it but you’ve got a sweet side, you always give Rogers half your fries at lunch even though I know you love fries and you take care of you sister when your mom has to go out of town and you never treat me like the loser stoner I am—”

“Shut up.”

That startles Clint enough that he actually does for a second. But only a second, “Sorry. I ramble when I’m high. And when I’m not high. And, hell, probably in my slee—”

Barnes’ hand is over his mouth and Clint gives him a muffled, “Frry. Futting uh fuh.”

“What?” Barnes gives him his mouth back, and looks at his left hand in surprise, as if the no longer dominant limb had been operating on its own and he’s looking for a feedback report.

“I said, ‘Sorry. Shutting up now.’ And I will. I can.”

Barnes huffs a laugh, “Do you talk this much during sex?”

Clint goes quiet and Barnes gives it a beat, probably sensing the change in mood is more than just surface level.

“I’ve a… I’ve been told the best way to shut me up is a dick in my mouth,” and he means it to come out playful, or like a come on or a dare but instead it just sounds sad to his own ears. 

Not that he can really trust them. With the aid, the left is technically his good ear these days and even then it can be hit or miss.

“Hey… are you okay, Clint?”

“Peachy.”

But really, he still feels a little lost. Too many memories. Too many of them bad. He’d be worried about the trip going sour, but it’s almost over anyway. 

Which means pretty soon Barnes is going to fuck off into the sunset and they’ll go back to just dealee and dealer. 

“Wanna go for a ride?”

Clint turns to him and raises his eyebrows suggestively, covering for the way his heart has started skipping.

“Not like that, punk; I meant on my bike.”

Barnes has an old restored Honda, glossy black with a red star on the left side. Word is nobody else touches it, not even Rogers.

And because he’s an idiot but he’s not stupid he says, “I— yes?”

“Come on then. You won’t want to miss this.”

~~~

Clint regrets every choice he’s ever made up until this moment. 

Or no. 

The opposite.

Except this is going to end and then he’ll know every bit of what he’s missing and it’s gonna kill him. 

Ugh. 

He is so fucked. 

Bucky’s back is warm and strong beneath his chest, his hips firm between Clint’s legs and he’s torn between watching the fall foliage around them as the wind streams through his hair and Barnes drives them up to the Peak and wanting to close his eyes and just savor this feeling for as long as it lasts. 

He had started by sitting back as far as he could but there’s no back rest and he’s growing into the promise of his frame, one of the tallest kinds in school, taller even than Rogers, and nearly as wide.

Bucky isn’t small either, filling out the seat the way he fills out his jeans and everything else and Clint actually wonders if the bike can support both of them but Bucky seems unconcerned so Clint just goes with it.

Barnes told him not to be afraid to get close and when Clint had barely scootched forward Barnes had grabbed his legs and _pulled_ and, damn, is he strong. Strong enough to manhandle Clint and, Clint thinks with a shiver of either anticipation or maybe fear, possibly more.

So Clint is molded to Bucky’s back, Bucky’s elbows halfway resting on Clint’s knees where they squeeze his sides and they lean together through the turns as they make their way up to the view point. 

Bucky had braided his shoulder length dark hair, tying it off with a plain black hairband that had been on the bike's handle, but a couple strands have declared their independence from the glossy depths and are flirting with the patchy stubble on Clint’s chin. 

It tickles a little, but in a good way. 

When they get to the Peak they have it all to themselves; their small town laid out before them like a picture; jeweled with street lights as they start to come on. 

They sit in silence as the sun begins to set and it’s so overwhelmingly idyllic that Clint needs a moment.

He touches Bucky’s shoulder and, afraid to break the silence and ruin all this, he quietly murmurs, “Just gonna stretch my legs for a second.”

Bucky lets him go, stays on the bike and Clint walks around it. He was going to walk away a bit, maybe duck into the surrounding wooded area, but he’s trapped in Bucky’s orbit, barely able to take more than a couple steps, so he comes back around to the sunset side of the bike and stands so that his back is against Bucky’s knee and watches as the sky goes from golden orange to red. 

He takes a step forward, his left fingers linger on Bucky’s left knee as his right reaches out like the view is something he can touch, his impure fingers against the purity of the moment, his hand stretching towards the sky and the flight of a pair of redtail hawks as they trace the sunset, on their way home after a day of hunting. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says reverently.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky says in the same tone, as if it’s something people say, as if it’s something anyone would ever say to Clint and he must still be high because the emotions thrum through him like the beat of a drum.

He turns back to Barnes, ready to call him on his cruel joke, to laugh it off and play along, but it’s not a joke, he can see it in the dove grey of Bucky’s eyes and instead Clint only says, like a prayer when he hasn’t prayed since he was a child, “ _Bucky_.”

Bucky pulls Clint in with his right arm, and then cups Clint’s cheek with his left hand, his battered and scarred arm reaching up to Clint’s face, the arm that he hides from everyone, that no one ever sees him use, not even Rogers, but here, now, he lets Clint _see_ him, all of him, and Clint can do no less than the same as he whispers again, this time with an unnameable need, it’s not lust, but something else, something he’s never felt before, “ _Bucky.”_

Bucky looks from Clint’s eyes to his mouth again and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

And no ones ever asked _Clint_ before; they take, or demand, or just dive right in and he doesn’t know what to do— and then he does.

“Yes.”

Bucky’s lips are soft and firm against Clint’s, not tentative at all like he’s expecting for Bucky’s first kiss; he presses once, then twice, pauses, but when Clint finally remembers himself and presses his lips back Bucky tilts his head and suddenly it’s not just good it’s _perfect._

They kiss for a few more seconds and when Bucky’s tongue brushes his lip Clint moans and the kiss deepens. 

Clint climbs into Bucky’s lap, barely breaking the kiss at all as Bucky supports him with his thick thighs and strong arms.

The sun’s gone but the sky still a riot of colors when they finally pause, and they’re both hard in their jeans so Clint reaches between them and rests his hand over Bucky.

“Wait,” Bucky says as his left fingers wrap gently around Clint’s wrist.

Clint says, “I can...If you want?” Not sure what he’s offering and offering everything, anything, just to be able to keep touching Bucky, for Bucky to keep touching him.

“Do _you_ want?”

“It’s okay, Bucky. You know I’m anything but virginal,” Clint says, refusing to think about his own first time, unwilling to let that moment ruin this one, “I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but a really smart guy once told me virginity is just an artificial construct of the patriarchy.”

“I think I remember hearing that somewhere,” Clint says as a smile eases into the corner of his mouth.

Bucky takes his wrist, lifting his hand and threading their fingers and kissing their knuckles, “Let’s take it slow, okay?”

“I… I’m not sure I know how?”

“It’s okay, I’ll show you.”


End file.
